I'm sitting on my parents' couch as their Christmas tree behind me creates a soft and warming glow, gently lighting the room. Outside the snow and threatening chill are enough to keep me inside. So, I am forcing myself to sit and write this blog as I have had to force myself to do many tasks the past week- unpack my bag (a task that is still only half done), upload my pictures (followed by a lot of crying), get up and go to church knowing I'll encounter the same question "How was your 'trip'?" and feel the need to somehow give an in depth response in the 30 seconds the individual asking lingers, and now writing my follow-up blog in an attempt to contain and order the thousands of memories that are bouncing around my mind trying to force themselves out in tearful, incoherent, "watch out I might throw up words on you" form.
I can't sum up everything; I hardly even know where to begin. And as much as I attempted to convey life and experiences from B.A throughout the course of my time there through this blog it still only skims the surface of what is held so deep in my heart. So suffice it to say, I will not attempt to convey the loads of memories that penetrate into my thoughts as I go about daily life and you can expect that the next few blogs will most likely contain some snipet of Buenos Aires life, a life that is not easily forgotten.
What I know so well now is the heartache of letting go. Adjusting back to life in the states has proved difficult. Here life has gone on without me, my family and friends are going about life uninterrupted, plunging into the holidays and the array of activities and demands that are ushered in by this busy season. I have changed, my perceptions have changed. This is what I've encountered upon my return.
I have my moments of paralysis, heartache, desperate needs for reflection that yield introverted introspection. There are certain things that do not feel natural anymore and I encounter expected and some unexpected longings for certain aspects of life from the past four months. Sitting on a dirty train station floor, dodging cockroaches in the kitchen, loading onto packed and stuffy subte trains, hearing incomprehensible Spanish, walking... everywhere, empanadas, squeezing in between the toilet and the sink to take a shower, speaking SPANGLISH, trying to figure out what we can make for dinner for under 60 pesos, late night card games until 2, 3 or 4 a.m, the intentionality of greeting everyone with a kiss on the cheek, singing in Spanish, sharing mate.
More than anything I miss the people; the little pockets of community that overlap each other in daily life; the little family formed over the course of 4 months of doing life together; individual quirks, laughs, talents, expressions, inside jokes.
The same tears that were common in our last few days now burn in my eyes; tears that signify goodbye. I have never been one that cries much but I allow myself the freedom to cry right now as I reflect on the last few days in Buenos Aires where tears were unavoidable all the same. Lots of "lasts" to be accounted for. Perhaps I can attempt to convey those last few days in Buenos Aires.
Our last Sunday at church was full or tearful embraces as the congregation gathered around us to pray and bestowed sentimental gifts on us.
Our last day at Retiro we passed time with our new friends sharing ham sandwiches and mate, all the while anticipating the showdown of eggs and flour, the typical farewell "gift"; tears flowed uncontrollably from my eyes not only because I got hammered in the eye by one of those "goodbye gifts" but because I was so overwhelmed with saying goodbye to these beautiful souls, my new friends.
My last night in Buenos Aires, my final excursion in the city could hardly have been better spent. After dinner at the Deans' we- Matt, our friend "John" who lived with us at the church, and I- carried out a 4 month-long dream of going ice-blocking. The night before we started the process of freezing a massive chunk of ice in the Dean's freezer. We carried this block of ice on our bus ride and walk to Costanera Sur to a park with steep hills, perfect for sliding down atop a block of ice. We took turns speeding down the hill, balancing on the ice with nothing to hold on to but cold wet ice. When the ice chunk was reduced to small pieces that had split off(barely big enough for two cheeks to sit on) we took our turns throwing the chunks at the ground and watching them crash into even smaller pieces. We walked around the park enjoying the pre-summer night air, the city skyline view, and the company of good friends. We raced across a large rope structure called "la arana- spider" and walked on the strip along the ecological reserve eating chori's and ice cream bought from one of the many food stands lining the sidewalk strip. We decided to tackle the 45 minute walk through the city back to the church instead of taking a bus, in order to enjoy our last sights of the city. We walked quietly, pensively, and, at one point, barefoot through Puerto Madero, San Telmo, past Parque Lezama, and finally ending up in Barracas. John who is usually a jokster and exudes excitment was more quiet than usual perhaps anticipating the goodbye that lay ahead. I asked John and Matt to write something about the night in my notebook along with myself, a way to capture the cherished moments we spent together. This is what I wrote:
Esta noche parece perfecto para mi ultima noche en Buenos Aires. Hay dos hombres conmigo que son divertidos y unicos. Uno habla castellano y el otro habla como yo pero no importa porque podemos compatir juntos todovia. Eso esta un regalo.
It truly was a gift.
Our last day was hot and surreal. We spent much of the morning packing and cleaning and shared some time with John drinking mate terere before heading over to the Dean's, our last walk through Barracas and La Boca, for our final celebration together where we started saying our goodbyes to some of the WMF team.
It wasn't just saying goodbye, having to break away from living life with these dear friends, that instigated tears but the overwhelming sense of love that came crashing down on me in our final moments.
During our celebration at the Deans' that afternoon as we shared our last moments together as a team I felt that love as the staff gathered around us and prayed their blessing on us.
On the way to the airport as we left the city behind I tried to hold back tears but found them breaking through whenever Jordan, the Dean's oldest son, would occasionally hold my hand or talk about how he failed to lock me up in a cage so I wouldn't be able to leave.
At the airport we were met by Pablo and Sara, a Korean couple that pastor a church where we taught English to youth once a week. Their hospitality and the extension of their love in their actions was reiterrated in their coming to see us off, carrying gifts and momentos for us.
And I saw this deep expression of love stream down faces as we parted with tears and desperate hugs.
And I still have the ability to cling onto this deep love that I sensed in this unique experience of community, brokenness, and joy.
Where do I go from here? And I don't mean right now in my thought process. But what do I do as I deal with this heartache mixed with joy? Well, I allow those tears to come as I tell others about my new friends. I keep seeking the meaning of developing friendship at the margins. I keep speaking spanish even if no one around me understands. I drink mate, if only by myself. And I let this beautiful experience push me forward into the big picture that God has created for my life.
